


Silver and Green: a Quartet

by alena_hu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alena_hu/pseuds/alena_hu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For four Slytherin seventh-years, the sarcastic potions master turns out to be not only the best teacher they ever had, but also the most important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver and Green: a Quartet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in October 2007 (before J. K. Rowling made certain statements regarding Daphne's background), for Livejournal's snape_after_dh challenge. The prompt was "the Slytherins attack Voldemort from the rear".
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter world, and no money is being made from this work.

_Summer, late afternoon. Shadows of clouds across the grass. An intermittent breeze stirred the leaves, a few desultory birds here and there in the air. Footsteps along the path, and the sound of a wheelchair upon the gravel. The cemetery was otherwise silent, for the little group of young people did not speak among themselves. Many of the graves were fresh; they stopped at the end of the row._

  
Blaise

  
Sorry we missed the funeral, Professor Snape. Some of us were detained unavoidably at the time. They wanted to make absolutely certain which side we were on--those were the auror's exact words. I told them I was on yours; didn't think they liked that much. Out came the Veritaserum and the Pensieves, and in the end they wanted to know why we acted as we did, that night. I told them I couldn't speak for anyone else, but for me, I just didn't want to give them the satisfaction of being right. About us, I mean. About our house. About you. Thought they liked that one even less.

It was the truth, though. I did not want to go back at first, not after what McGonagall said, not after how they cheered, not after I heard that weirdo barkeeper muttering about hostages as we came out of the tunnel. Not after the way things had been all year. All seven years. I thought about what imbeciles they were, the whole lot of Potter and Dumbledore's worshippers, sitting there so smugly in the Room of Requirements and believing themselves secure, as if no one could ever figure them out. I thought about what happened earlier in the year, when you sent their ringleaders--those Holy Trio wannabes--out to the Forest after that oh-so-brilliant burglary attempt of theirs. Well, everybody always knew Longbottom was dropped on the head as a kid, but one might have expected the Ravenclaws to catch just the tiniest glimmer of a clue, wouldn't one?

I thought about the way you had been all year. All seven years.

So I went back. I went to _him_ and told him about the tunnel out of the Room of Requirements. Didn't say where it really went, of course. Thought I'd try to get him to send a couple of them out there on their own, see what happens. It wasn't much of a plan, but there wasn't much time, was there?

Old Theodore here, needless to say, had to show up right then. He gave me one hell of a start, I must confess: for a second I thought I'd have to do something to him, too. But then he looked at the Dark Lord straight in the face and said, perfectly even voice, _Professor Snape sent me._ He glanced over at me once.

And that was when I knew.

Or at least I had a guess. If I was wrong I'd simply have to kill him.

 _It would take only a few men to secure this tunnel, lord,_ I said. _Nott and I can show them the entrance. We can help. Professor Snape taught us well._

I hoped to Merlin Theo had a guess, too, so that he wouldn't get the idea to pull anything on me, either. Not that he would have managed it--I was always the better dueller, of course.

What happened next was...not easy. But by the time the battle started in earnest we'd taken them down and Imperiused one of them to send back to the others. Great trick, that, for keeping them on their toes, splitting them apart--it worked wonders later that night, too. Good thing Amycus Carrow taught it, I must say.

Daphne came along soon after. There was a bit of tension, but we sorted it out. Eventually things became somewhat of a blur, at least in my recollections, but there was a lot of sneaking about corridors, punctuated by moments when I was utterly convinced I was about to die. I remember drawing my wand before a Death Eater, saying one thing and thinking another, clinging frantically onto the notion that I could make the silent spell work. I remember finding Tracey lying at the bottom of the stairs, blood pooling beneath her, staring off into space and muttering something about you, and a task. I remember killing a man. I think. But unlike all those other idiots we weren't afraid to attack from behind, and we weren't afraid to use anything the Carrows taught us. I wish they'd seen us, actually, those two. Do you think they would have been proud, Headmaster?

In any case, we survived the fight, more or less, but afterwards there were the aurors and the sanctimonious fools to deal with. You see, whenever we ran into anyone that night, we had to convince them we were on their side, true or not. And when morning came and _he_ was dead and we still had to keep doing it, the fast thinking and faster talking, just to keep them from carting us all to Azkaban. Oh, and to get someone to help Tracey and take her to a healer. But all along the only thing I kept telling myself was that the one side I knew was yours. And that was the side I chose. So later, when they kept asking why, why--I got rather sick of it all, I'm afraid. So I told them the truth.

I still keep on telling it to myself.

Seems it's the only thing I really understood anymore.

Things aren't exactly all baby kneazles and roses for us Slytherins these days, as you can imagine, Professor Snape. But I think back to the way you were all year, all seven years, all your life, and I know that I don't need to explain a damned thing to them. Not one word. None of us do. Even though they call themselves the victors, we know they're just as much brainless sheep as they ever were. We weren't on their side anyway.

It's not as if any of them were on ours, after all.

  
Daphne

  
They've put white lilies on your grave, Headmaster. I bet it's Potter, what with that big speech he made that night, right before the very end. He's been saying the same sort of stuff ever since. It would be just like him, wouldn't it, putting them here so that everyone would go oh, lilies, Lily. How clever. Actually I've always liked lilies, myself, and these do seem kind of nice, or at least expensive, but still they do make you look like a hopeless romantic sap, don't they, sir?

Well, as it turned out you _were_ a hopeless romantic sap, but I'm sure you wouldn't want people to be reminded of that fact all the time. So we'll just get rid of the lilies and toss them behind the headstone. We brought you flowers, too: snowblood orchid for cunning, verdigis thorn, for dissimulation, and winter spirax, for hidden things. Everything from what you taught us in potions. I made sure of that.

There. That looks better now. Silver and green, and just a flash of black: a good colour scheme. I picked them out myself, since Tracey was barely out of the hospital, and the guys were no help, obviously. I had to make up a story to my parents so that they'd actually let me out of the house; they are a little...overprotective of me these days. And don't even get me started on my brother. He's being even more of a total blockhead than, well, than ever, I should say.

Come to think of it, that was the very word you used, wasn't it, Professor? _You have an elder brother, I believe, Miss Greengrass? Hufflepuff, how could I forget, nearly as spectacularly blockheaded as Longbottom._ And in front of everybody, too. Now I agreed with you about him, of course, but there was something in the way you said it that almost made me want to defend him. I had not imagined I would feel that way for years.

 _It wouldn't surprise me if he turns out a blood traitor,_ you said next. I remember. Of course I didn't know you were a half-blood yourself back then. None of us did. _I hope your parents are loyal to the Ministry, Miss Greengrass?_ The glare of your eyes was drilling into me as if you expected me to declare my allegiance without the shadow of a doubt, right then and there. I froze like an idiot, but you were already walking away.

That was in autumn, before I figured out a few things about you. And the whole year long I kept on hearing your words inside my ears. Most of my waking moments, pretty much, and sometimes in my dreams. So in the end...You know how Blaise was saying he didn't want to go back? I didn't, either, but I still got worried, even though I shouldn't. I couldn't see Darius having enough sense to stay away, and if he showed up, then my parents--well. Hufflepuffs, what can I say.

I was scared. I know it's bad form to admit weakness, but now that it's all over and you're no longer alive to deduct points from me, maybe I'll say it, just this once. I was so scared I didn't know how I'd hold up my wand. But I circled back and the fight had already begun, so I joined the crowd with a few easy pretenses, made it through in the confusion and got inside again.

Where my brother proved you right, as usual. We ran into each other around a corner in the dungeon corridor; maybe it was a weird coincidence, maybe not. I raised my wand, and there was just this look in his eyes as he goggled at my face. It was a fraction of a second but he was totally convinced I was an enemy. And he was too slow-witted to notice the Death Eater behind him, not ten yards away. Duh.

He took a while to figure things out even after my hex shot right past his ear; it was a wonder he didn't get us both killed. I didn't even dare to ask him where Mum and Dad were, or rather I didn't get the chance: we got separated again soon afterwards, what with the running around, and him not knowing the dungeons nearly as well as I did.

That was when all of a sudden I came face to face with Theo and Blaise. I stared at them and they stared at me. They had two wands pointed at me and I had one, but then Theo said, _Which side are you on, Daphne?_ Just like that, very quietly and almost calm. And I was like, oh shite, oh shite. I had to declare my allegiance without a shadow of a doubt, right then and there, and the only thing inside my brain was, holy Circe help me, which side were _they_ on? What was I supposed to say?

 _I'm on Professor Snape's side,_ I managed to choke out at last.

Later we found Tracey: another frightening moment, since there were two Death Eaters with us, and fighting everywhere. She was about to go into shock with the pain and the blood loss, and starting to babble incoherently; I was terrified she'd give away which side we were really on any instant. Because we knew, of course. But apparently some people hexed first and did not ask questions. Dumbledore's Army, the Dumb Army, so we should have expected it, you would probably tell us. Even after the battle, they kicked up a huge fuss before they'd even bring her to St. Mungo's, can you imagine?

So we were arguing with the healers about poor Trace, and finally my family came running and were of some use after all. They're being all extra nice and loving to me these days, too, as if trying to make up for the last seven years. For every time they asked why I couldn't be more like them, every time they glanced at me sideways, as if wondering what was really wrong with me. For every time they mumbled to others, sounding so embarrassed, _oh, Daphne was, erm, Sorted differently._ For that look Darius gave me in the dungeons.

You should have seen my mum when the aurors came to the front door, sir. They just wanted to ask a few friendly questions, or that was the official story, anyway. _My daughter has never dreamt of joining You-Know-Who!_ Mum yelled as if she'd always believed it. I didn't think it wise to contradict her, because Merlin, I'd dreamt of it. I'd dreamt of showing them just how little I needed them. I'd dreamt of showing them just how different I really was. But they'd suspected me enough and so somehow I ended up back in my room, sitting on the floor and snivelling stupidly, while Mum stood in the front door and told the aurors exactly where they could take their friendly questions and shove them. She does have a powerful voice when she puts her lungs into it.

But I think, I _am_ different. They've spent seven years rubbing my face in that fact, and now they can't simply pretend it's not there. I think, maybe I don't belong with them, not really, not anymore. And I think about that reply I gave to Blaise and Theo, in the middle of a dim hallway, with our wands drawn and aimed at each other. I figured if it was the wrong answer maybe I could still try to wriggle out of it. It turned out to be the right one, thank Merlin. But in the morning I repeated it, and I realised, I should be thanking you instead.

So here's thank you, Professor Snape. Thank you for saving my life in a very long, dark night, and possibly my brother's and my parents' lives. Thank you for being on our side. Thank you for what you said to me that time, even though you were so snide and terrible, and all the other times. Thank you for what you taught me.

I don't care what anybody else says, sir. You were one hell of a teacher.

  
Theo

  
Not long ago, a Gryffindor said to me, _You made the right choice to reject your father, Theodore, and all that he stood for._ That Gryffindor was the new headmistress of Hogwarts, and we are being held back an extra year, come September--last year being what it was--so I couldn't hex her or even tell her to fuck off. I merely stood there without replying, without moving a muscle, and I remembered my father.

I remembered you, Professor Snape. In the beginning of the term you called me to the Headmaster's office, and gave me the news of my father's death in Azkaban. When the Dark Lord took over the Ministry, I thought they would finally let him out, same as all the others. Instead they took one look into his cell and saw an old, broken man, racked with illness, and decided he was no longer of any use. It was too much trouble to save him, nurse him back to health.

 _He was weak,_ you said, _and the Dark Lord does not tolerate weakness._ There was nothing in your voice but something in your eyes. _You would do well to keep that in mind, Mr Nott._ Your words forbade me to forget. Your eyes forbade me to mourn. I hated you then, with such hatred that my insides turned to ice. Something in my face betrayed me, surely, but you said nothing more.

So I did not forget, and I did not mourn, knowing that you watched me, and through you, the Dark Lord. But I watched you, too. I watched you as the air grew colder and the nights grew longer, and I began to see things about you, things that did not add up. The understanding of your true allegiance came slowly upon me, and all I could ask was why? Why were you doing this? My hatred turned to doubt, to confusion, then to a different kind of hatred.

You must have looked into me, back then in your office, and now I wonder how much you saw. If I could not forget and I could not mourn, then the only recourse left to me was vengeance. Was that what you intended, all along? But how could you have known? How could you have known which vengeance I needed to take, against those who put him there, or against those who left him there?

Because I sure as hell did not know. Not until it all came to a head, when they were yelling and jeering at your name, and we were alone, facing all the rest of the school. _Done a bunk,_ that was what she said, vulgar as only a Gryffindor knew how. But I thought, you were coming back.

So I did also. I walked to the Forest and each step of the way I asked myself, which side was I on? But I kept walking until I saw the crowd, then the Dark Lord, then the whites of his eyes, and I said--well, Blaise told you what I said. It was as if the words were coming out by themselves, with a force of their own. They decided for me, at long last.

Blaise here will keep pretending he's the better fighter, but I made two kills that night, and that was one more than he had, though still not enough, not nearly enough. It was tough, but once, just once, as I was striding down an abandoned corridor, keeping the masked man beside me distracted with a stream of false words, while at the same instant drawing my wand behind my back, there came to me an image of my father, lying in a dank stony place without light. They just left him to die.

But all that was past. Nowadays, Potter can't seem to shut up about you. He's safe to do so because you're dead. I read in the papers about events two years ago, and I realised if it were not for you, my father would never have gone to Azkaban. But then I realised if it were not for Voldemort, he would never have gone to the Ministry.

So, again I no longer know what to think, or whom I should hate the most. I tried to recall everything about my father, everything he'd believed in. I tried to recall your words, the few of them there were, and everything you'd not said.

You could have said something, sir. We were alone. The Carrows weren't there. It might have helped. That last year, it was difficult for you, too, wasn't it?

But that's the way it always is. Now more than before. Probably will get worse, when the term starts again, for instance. I considered not returning, after all that had happened, and with McGonagall as the new headmistress. But we've been talking, the four of us, and we decided if it's going to be this way, us alone against the rest of the school, then Slytherin House, by Merlin, will make a damned good show of it. We came back for the Dark Lord, we'll come back for them.

You'll see, Professor Snape. We will make you proud of us yet.

  
Tracey

  
Daphne was wrong, sir. I never was babbling. My body felt like it had been plunged in ice and there were black spots before my eyes, but I saw them, and the two masked men, and I made the perfectly rational deduction that the other Slytherins had gone in for the opposite side. _Professor Snape,_ I said, _I did what he told me to._ Nothing else. I didn't say Potter's name, or mention the tunnel, or anything about the Whomping Willow. My only flaw in logic was in not realising that if I knew about you, then my housemates would, too. But I was dying, so it was hard to think.

I had a lot of nightmares after that--for a couple of days, or so they explained to me. I don't recall them very well, except I seemed to have been running endlessly, until my lungs were about to explode, and the last time I saw you alive played itself backward and forward in the darkness. Your face, pale and snarling as you slammed me against the tree at the edge of the Quiddich pitch. The point of your wand jammed against my throat. The hiss of your voice.

 _Why did you return, Miss Davis?_

Why did I return? I don't know. Maybe it was my Mum. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was something else. I don't know. I wish to all the gods that I never did, sometimes. Most times.

In my dreams, just as in reality, the pounding of my heart was like thunder, drowning out every other sound. And in my dreams, just as in reality, I never understood how I could have found the courage to reply.

 _Why did_ you _return, Professor Snape?_

The way you glowered, I thought you'd kill me, then and there, who cares which side I was on. But then you let go, and you said a few words to me. I don't know why I obeyed. Perhaps it was the way you said them, as if you'd always trusted me. Did you look into me then, the same as you had once looked into Theo? Maybe you had looked into all of us, without anyone knowing. My legs were shaking and nothing made any sense at all, why there was a tunnel under the Whomping Willow, where it went. _Make sure he gets in. Quietly. Quickly. Now._ Never mind that Potter would as soon attack me as he saw my face. How was I going to make him listen to anything a Slytherin would say?

 _And after?_ Stupid of me to pretend there would still be an after. I'll never forget the next thing you said. The last thing you said.

 _Don't come looking for me after._ A twitch of the lips. _Ten points to Slytherin._

You want to hear something funny, sir? After I woke up in the hospital, after the world started to piece itself back together again, I tried to find out if those points took in the entry hall. Those ten measly, stupid house points. The healers thought I had brain damage, but it felt awfully important to me. Life and death. But they didn't. Nothing. Then they said it was because you'd abandoned you post. The bastards. The bloody, moronic, fucking bastards--

I rather made a fool of myself at that point, but people kept telling me it was okay, it was all because of the shock, or the potions, or something they called 'emotional frustration' at my situation. They kept telling me the spell damage would pass and I'd eventually recover, but I'm still stuck in this stupid chair, everything I've ever imagined to be my future lying in shambles, and the only thing I can do is think and think and wonder. Why did I return? Why did you return?

Michael Corner--yeah, him, the genius that did this to me--came to St. Mungo's. He looked at me in the face, upset as if he was the one injured, and do you know what he said? _How was I to know you didn't come back on the wrong side?_ They'd put my wand out of reach, and the only thing I could throw at him was the vase on the bedside table. He's been showing up at our house, too, after I got out of the hospital. At first he was afraid that my mother would hex him, but then he realised Mum--Mum couldn't hex him even if she wanted to. I told him I'd kill him if I saw his face again, but it didn't help. Maybe it makes him feel better, or something.

He asked why I didn't join them. Their own side, not the Death Eaters, he meant. As if it wasn't insulting to imagine I'd join anything with 'Dumbledore' in its name. He asked how long I'd known about you. As if it wasn't insulting to imagine me as idiotic as he was. But the truth was, I really didn't know anything about you. I didn't know why you'd returned. I didn't know why you'd gone. To the Shrieking Shack, I mean. That was where the tunnel went, wasn't it? I read the papers, the things Potter can't seem to stop from babbling on about, and now I have an idea. That was why you needed him there so urgently. It was all coming to an end.

He asked me what was the task you set me. My mum did, too, and others. Apparently in the hospital I said some things while not quite within my right mind. Bits and pieces. I didn't want to give them an answer. Why should I?

The way it happened, I never had to say a word to Potter in the end. Just as well. He and his two sidekicks were already running toward the Willow, and I sprinted after them. Got to a Death Eater before he cut them off. Then there was the giant with his club. It took me four, five shots before he turned away from them and came after me. Everybody around was too busy fighting and dying, and no one else noticed me, or which side I was on. I only caught a glimpse of them slipping in under the tree. They never saw me.

I hated their ingratitude for days on end. Still do. I hate them all nowadays, it seems, all the people with their platitudes and their mindless self-congratulations, their distrust, their pity, their _oh you only did it because you wanted to get onboard with the winners._ These helpless numb legs of mine. The way I am. I'd made it past the giant and the battle only to be struck down and maimed by fucking Michael Look-at-me-I'm-hanging-out-with-Gryffindors Corner. I think about the past and I look in the mirror and what the hell am I supposed to do, Professor Snape?

You won't tell me, of course; you're dead and gone. But you told me what to do once, in a night when everything was hanging by a thread, and I did it. I took on a Death Eater and a giant and I saw Potter into the tunnel beneath the tree. I trusted you. Except afterwards I learned it was all about death, wasn't it? You were going to your death and Potter had to go to his, and only a bloody Gryffindor could have come up with a plan as ridiculous as that. Why did you go along with it? Why? But then I figured, maybe it would have been better for me, too. There are plenty of people who think so, and I know this because they talk about you and they say, _he's dead and surely he has been redeemed,_ as if that alone makes you a good Slytherin.

I wish you were here, Headmaster. I suspect you must be sneering at me now, wherever you are, since I probably was never one of your favourites, and Merlin knows I was as scared of you as the worst of them, but I wish you were here to tell me. How to hold up my head in the teeth of their pity. How to throw it back into their faces. How to stand on legs that no longer support my weight. How to go on.

If you were alive, if you were here to show me, maybe I'll learn to find my courage again. Just like I did once, when you were there to show me.


End file.
